As Eira sipped her tea, Dumbledore's gaze rested on her, serene but piercing. From the folds of his robes, he drew a finely folded piece of parchment, edged with the seal of Hogwarts. "Miss White," he began, his voice steady, carrying that soft cadence which made every word linger, "you are now officially admitted as a student of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."
Eira raised her eyebrows slightly, her mind noting the formality yet masking her curiosity behind a calm expression. She accepted the letter with both hands, scanning the exquisite wax seal and the elegant, flowing script of the header.
"The letter," Dumbledore continued, "contains instructions for acquiring your uniform, books, and other necessary supplies at Diagon Alley. As tradition dictates, the Hogwarts Express will depart on the thirty-first of August. Until that time, you may prepare, settle your affairs, and make any necessary arrangements. Upon arrival, you will be treated in all respects as any other student, participating fully in the academic year ahead."
Eira inclined her head, a subtle gesture of acknowledgment. "Thank you, Headmaster Dumbledore. I appreciate the guidance."
She adjusted her grip on the parchment and let her eyes wander around the room. That's when she noticed a portrait tucked along the far wall—a solemn painting of a woman whose gaze seemed almost alive, fixed on her with quiet authority. At first, the eyes followed her steadily, then, almost imperceptibly, they drifted downward. Eira blinked, startled, as the woman's hands began to move, tracing gestures she did not recognize—small arcs of the fingers, twists of the wrist, intricate and deliberate. She had never seen anything like it, and yet, despite her uncertainty, the movements seemed purposeful, as if the portrait were trying to speak in some secret language only she might understand.
Elisha White. The name was written in flowing script at the bottom of the painting. Eira's heart skipped. She had never seen her portrait in the White Manor, yet here it hung, a silent testament to the family's legacy within Hogwarts. The gestures—the subtle arcs, the symbols—made no immediate sense, but she committed them to memory. Later, she would decipher their meaning, unraveling the messages hidden within the actions of her ancestor.
Dumbledore's voice brought her back to the present. "I had received certain reports from France," he said gently, his tone almost conversational, "regarding recent conflicts. Particularly, the unrest between the Voclain family and the Trévér family over the past two years. Some of the events—highly unfortunate, of course—indicated the involvement of your house, Lady White."
Eira blinked slowly, carefully maintaining her composure. Up until now, Dumbledore had spoken with that familiar calm demeanor, discussing her education, Hogwarts, and general matters. But now, the directness, the pointedness of his words, sent a subtle ripple through her.
"I… beg your pardon?" Eira said, her voice even but measured.
"From France, I understand that the White family has been instrumental in recent events," Dumbledore continued, steepling his fingers beneath his beard. "There is evidence of orchestration—strategic interventions, manipulations of certain affairs…" His eyes met hers, steady and penetrating. "You, of course, understand the gravity of such revelations."
Eira kept her expression placid. "Headmaster, I do not believe there is sufficient proof that my family was involved. I only recently assumed the position of matriarch, and I have been occupied with stabilizing the family and familiarizing myself with our responsibilities. Political entanglements have not been my focus, and I have certainly had neither the time nor inclination to ignite conflicts among other families."
Dumbledore's thin lips curved into a knowing smile. "Be that as it may, Lady White, caution is a virtue, and the British Wizarding World is a delicate web. Unlike France, the politics here are complex, nuanced, and sometimes… treacherous. As someone who knew your grandfather, Elijah White, and your great-grandmother, a dear friend of mine from my student days here at Hogwarts, I feel a certain duty to offer guidance. I have watched the White family's influence grow over the years, and I would advise you to proceed with both care and vigilance. Your family's legacy is strong, but it carries responsibilities, and it is wise to be mindful of them.
That said," he added, his tone firm but not unkind, "your actions during the Quidditch World Cup final were completely unnecessary. You went far beyond what was needed and should not have meddled in matters of adults. The Ministry and other authorities are there to handle such affairs you should have let them do their work. Taking matters into your own hands, especially through attack or confrontation, was unwise and could have had serious consequences."
Eira's brow lifted, faintly furrowed. "What did you expect me to do, Professor Dumbledore? Stand by while innocent lives were threatened? Let death unfold before my eyes?" Her voice remained calm and measured, but there was a weight beneath it—the unspoken fury of that night's chaos, the memory of every spell she had cast in defense and offense, echoing silently behind her words. "I am not a pacifist. I could not… I would not allow them to toy with the lives of others, or act like monsters unchecked. I did what I had to do.
Dumbledore shook his head lightly, his usual serene smile never faltering. "You are still a child, Miss White. One must understand that in most circumstances, the Ministry and the Aurors act as safeguards. Involving oneself in such affairs—though sometimes unavoidable—can lead to consequences far beyond the immediate scope. I merely wish to impress upon you the importance of measured action, particularly here in England, where affairs are watched closely."
Eira's lips pressed into a thin line. She did not reply, choosing instead to observe him in silence. There was wisdom in his words, yet a subtle condescension she refused to acknowledge openly. She studied the lines of his face, the way his eyes reflected a calm intellect, and realized arguing with him would serve no purpose.
"Nevertheless," she said finally, her tone softening into polite acknowledgment, "I thank you for your counsel. I shall heed it as best I can."
Dumbledore's eyes gleamed, twinkling with the faintest light of amusement and approval. "I have no doubt, Lady White. You are capable of discernment beyond your years. Yet heed this: the world is not as simple as spells and duels. One must understand the currents beneath the surface. Wisdom often lies in knowing when not to act, as much as knowing when to act."
Eira inclined her head once more, folding her hands neatly in front of her. She felt a subtle exhaustion from the layers of scrutiny, yet her mind remained alert. "I will take your words to heart, Headmaster."
Dumbledore nodded, his smile softening. "Good. And now, as you have received your admission, there are logistical matters to consider. Supplies, your schedule, and preparations for the school year. All will proceed as written in your acceptance letter." He gestured again to the parchment she still held.
Eira's eyes drifted to the windows. The sun was brighter now, streaming across the tower and illuminating the portraits, the shelves, and the phoenix perched gracefully. That creature had not left her mind, the possibilities of its essence and bloodline whispering in the quiet recesses of her mind. She allowed herself a faint, almost imperceptible nod to Fawkes. A plan would form, carefully and methodically, when the time was right.
Rising from her seat, she spoke with measured politeness, "I thank you for your time, Headmaster Dumbledore. I must return to my family for now. I shall see Hogwarts anew on the thirty-first of August."
"Of course, Lady White," Dumbledore said, a soft warmth glimmering behind his eyes. "Go with care. And remember, I have high hopes for your presence here."
Eira bowed her head in acknowledgment. "As do I, Headmaster. Until the thirty-first."
Her robes swished against the floor as she turned, her movements graceful and deliberate. Dumbledore's gaze followed her steadily, the calmness in his eyes now layered with a faint seriousness. The door to the office closed behind her with a quiet, final click.